What color is
by myblackkitten
Summary: What is the color of loneliness, depression, anger, shame, or hate? Find out
1. Hunger

What color is hunger?

Hunger is black.

I stared down at the plate in front of me. I really didn't want to eat. But Zeke was staring at me, looking at me as if I was some mutant freak.

"Come on Ginger, eat. It's your favorite." He said, worry seeping into his eyes.

"I'm not really hungry." I whispered, pushing my fork through the plate's contents.

"Ginger, are you sure you're okay?" He asked and I nodded. My dad looked up from the game.

"Eat." He said sternly, looking back at the television. I took a deep breath before scooping up a bite of the starchy dish.

I took a bite, feeling it slide down my throat. My brain screamed at the intrusion, told me to spit out the unforgiving vehicle of fat.

"I don't feel good Zeke, I think I'm just going to shower and lay down." I said, pushing away from the table.

"Okay honey, I'll come and check on you later." My mother said, concern in her eyes. I ran to the bathroom and threw open the shower curtain, turning the faucet on high. I kneeled over the toilet, as I had done plenty of times before that, and pushed my fist under my ribcage. The intruder quickly slipped out of my throat and into the toilet. I coughed and heaved again, until I was coughing up pure stomach acid. I pulled the strands of puke out of my hair before showering, rinsing out my mouth.

I stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror at my bare body. I was so fat, it was ridiculous. I could see the girth attaching to my hips, wrapping around the curve of my breast, nestling itself against my thighs. I needed to purge, to get rid of every black, ugly pound. I bent over the toilet again, trying to release everything I had consumed, that ice cube, that cookie because I gave in, everything had to go. When I stood up I could see the little black dots that filled my vision. They were good, they told me that I was doing my job. They accompanied the hunger pangs and made me stronger.

They were my friends.

I wiped my hair out again and slipped my towel around me before making my way to my room.

Had the hallways gotten narrower? Had I gained more weight? The little black dots began to expand, getting bigger and bigger. I stumbled and hit the wall.

I was fine, I was happy.

I corrected my stance and continued down the hall. The walk to my room wasn't this long. Was this even my house? I stumbled again and crashed against the door of the hall closet. I fell onto the floor, the room going black.

Hunger is Black.


	2. Depression

What color is depression?

Depression is red.

I stared at my ceiling, the clock ticking a steady beat behind me. I'd been curled up on this bed for as long as Nana and Carl had been on vacation. I took a deep breath and heaved myself over into my bundled up blankets. I sat up and looked into the mirror, my eyes were red from tears, and my hair was disheveled. My stomach growled and I stood, staring into the mirror.

My waistline was shrinking, I could tell because my once fitted pajama pants slid off of my painfully visible hipbones. I ran my hands through my ugly red hair and caught the reflection of my wrist in the mirror. Scratches went all the way up to my elbow. They screamed at me, raw red and scars were like a record book, every mistake, flaw, and imperfection of mine was on display. Every time I said something stupid, got an 'f' in class, every time I couldn't throw a trick that Zeke could. Every time I saw the disappointed look in my nana's eyes, every time I was compared to Zeke, every time I knew that I would never live up to his greatness, I pressed the razor to my wrist in shame.

I was pathetic.

Why was it that I couldn't be like Zeke? Why was I the one who was still painfully a virgin? Why had I not been kissed. Why did no one want me? Why did what I want have to be so bad? Why did I want her?

She was perfect…. and I was nothing.

I was nothing and I was never going to be anything. I couldn't skate, I couldn't do anything.

The red of the bedspread casts an eerie glow in my room as the early morning sun drifted through my drawn curtains.

I could do one thing. I could do something that would make everyone proud. No more disappointment, no more pain.

I picked up the straight razor that I had found in Carl's shaving kit and slid it across my wrist tenderly. Little beads of blood began to form.

One- You are never going to be as good as Zeke

Two- You are never going to be as handsome as Zeke

Three- The ladies will never like as much as Zeke

Four- You will never be as smart as Zeke

Five- You will never be as talented as Zeke

I took the razor away from my wrist to admire the red skin, blood staining it further. There were five neat, parallel lines running across my wrist. Just like they had been with the others, neat, meticulous, hesitant, pathetic.

I took the razor and pressed it into my pulse point.

Six- Ginger will never love you.

I slid the razor up my wrist, wincing at the pain as tears clouded my eyes. Blood pulsed out of my wrist and I watched as the carpet became a dark red. I fell back onto my haunches as the room began to spin, engulfed in the color red.

Depression is red.


	3. Shame

What color is shame?

Shame is blue.

I stared straight ahead on the bus, my cigarette dangling out of my mouth. I knew I shouldn't smoke, nasty habit, but hell at this point my whole life was a nasty habit.

I pulled my hoodie closer to myself, the chill of early morning getting to me.

What was I doing on this bus at three in the morning?

I hated that I was here, riding straight into my sin. I was kind of pathetic. I had better things to think about than this, better ways to use my time than taking a bus an hour outside of town to meet a complete stranger.

I should be ashamed of myself.

I was.

I was going to turn around. I promise I'm not going to do this again, I'm not going to indulge myself in such…filth. I wasn't going to keep going down to Santa Monica to eat edible underwear and feel like shit the minute after the mindblowing fuck was over.

I stood up to pull the wire to stop the bus. I could get off here and be back in Gilroy in ten minutes, be back in bed, my ego intact.

Who was I kidding? I wasn't going to pull that wire. I wasn't going home any time soon. Chances are I'd spend about two hours fucking, one hour sleeping and another riding the bus home.

I plopped back onto the blue pleather seats and let my head rest against the top of it. If only my parents knew what I was up to. They'd put a stop to it real quick. If Eddie knew how I spent my Saturday nights, if Riot Skates Management knew… I'd be screwed, and not even in the way I'd be tonight.

I should think of my fans, of the people who looked up to me. What would they say if they knew? I would lose everything I love, my career, my friends, my family. All over a piece of ass. All because of what I wanted to be.

The bus came to a halt, and I got out, stomping out the butt of my cigarette. I looked at the sky, the dusty midnight blue seeming to fade into forever. This was my chance to get rid of the swelling shame I felt building in my stomach. I could get back on the bus and ride back into Gilroy, forget this ever happened. Instead, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and kept walking on until I spotted who I wanted to spot, my whore for the night.

I looked back at the bus once more before making my way through the crowd and looking deeply into dark blue eyes.

He pulled me by the strings of my hoodie and I let him lead me back to his place.

The television casted a bluish hue against his naked back as I stared at it, the only noise to be heard was his deep breathing. He was my shame

Shame is blue.


	4. Loneliness

What color is loneliness?

Loneliness is white.

I stared at the blank page of the word document. I was planning on doing my communications project, to write an article about something that interests me. But nothing was coming to mind.

I looked back at the white labcoats that donned my walls, science maybe?

No.

I tapped the keys impatiently before sighing and closing my laptop. I'd think about it later. I already had enough on my mind. My brother got deployed three months ago, I should be worried about his safety. But instead, I wasn't. He barely crossed my mind. I was too focused on everything else in my life. The girl I couldn't have, the girls who would never want me. I was stuck alone. Forever alone.

Maybe I could call up one of the guys, we could hang out…

"Only, they're not your real friends… they hate you."

I looked into the mirror to see my brother staring back at me.

What I wouldn't give to be like him. To be cunning, brave, well liked.

"They don't like you, Ozzie, because you're not important. What do you do?" He asked and I looked at him quizzically. Sure they notice me; I'm a part of the skaters clique. I've helped Zeke and Luther multiple times.

I looked around my room, my white walls devoid of pictures and momentos. Things that friends had, I had nothing to show for the relationships I thought I had forged. I had no proof.

I was alone.

"You don't have to be alone Ozzie. There are ways, ways to get people to notice you. Ways to make sure that your friends love you." My brother said and I crowded the mirror.

"How?" I whispered into the mirror. I was tired of being lonely, tired of being over looked. I wanted to do something about it.

"Feel that stirring in your gut. That's power. You've got to do something, something big. So they'll never forget the name Ozzie Kephart. You've got to show them what you've got," He talked me up and I nodded.

"But how?" I asked again.

"Go into my room and look under my bed. It'll be right there.". He whispered and I nodded. I got up and made my way to his room. It was barren, all of his things moved out. The matress was a stark white compared to the heavy black shadows that fell across the dark room.

I grabbed the mysterious duffel bag from under his bed and carried it to my room. I puled the automatic weapons out of the bag and placed them on my bed.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Now you take them to ramps and make a name for yourself. Don't let anyone forget the name 'Ozzie Kephart.'" I nodded and pulled a labcoat over myself before sticking the weapons in my waistband. As I made my way to the door, I ignored the coffee table covered with bills and a picture of a white casket.

Loneliness is white.


	5. Hate

What color is hate?

Hate is yellow.

I stared at the stained underwear beside my bed as the house creaked. It was getting late, yet I couldn't bring myself to sleep. I couldn't take the pain. The pain of being… the pain of being. My body was tremendously sore, and I could barely keep my eyelids opened. However, I knew what was to face me if I let myself succumb to sleep. I didn't want to relive it, I didn't want to hear the heavy breathing, the choked out sobs of my name. I didn't want any of it. I looked over to see the yellow video game bag discarded in the corner. Part of my wanted to get out of bed and throw that bag out the window, that and every other video game that was bought for me. The other part of me was too tired to get out of bed. That part of me knew that if I could get out of bed, I'd probably put that yellow bag over my head until I could no longer breathe. I shifted in bed, watching as my yellow sheets began to be tainted by red. Surprisingly, it didn't make the sheet look any more orange. I hated that it only made the blood look darker and the sheets look brighter.

My nightlight cast a harsh yellow glow around the room and I tried to sit up. Unfortunately, that only made me bleed more.

'tell someone.' I let myself entertain the thought of telling my mother what my new 'daddy' was doing to me. I bet she wouldn't be so insistent on making me call him that anymore.

After all, that's what he made me call him when we had story time.

I hated story time.

I heard the stairs creak again and this time, I knew it wasn't just the house settling. Someone was coming. I futilely pushed the soiled underwear under my bed and pulled the blanket up to my chin to cover the blood.

"Roy, you awake?" I heard Luther ask, and I tried to even my breath out.

What was he doing up this time of night?

"Hey, what are you doing up here?" my eyes shot opened as I heard him call out Luther.

"Just checking on Roy." He answered and I took a deep breath. Please don't let Luther get involved. My room was flooded with the bright yellow light of the hall light.

"Well, go on back to bed. You have school tomorrow," He said and Luther closed my door, leaving.

"Roy honey, you awake?" He said, opening my door and letting himself in. He sat on the bed beside me and stroked my hair.

"You wanna hear another story? I bet that'll put my big boy to sleep." He whispered and I whimpered.

"Don't worry, you'll like this one. Now come on. Tell me you want to hear another story. Tell me you want it." He beckoned.

"I want it, Daddy" I whispered and he slipped under the yellow sheets.

I hated him with a passion.

Yellow is hate.


	6. Bliss

What color is bliss?

Bliss is green.

I stared at my boombox as the bass filtered through my room. I could hear my parents arguing downstairs, saying things they would regret later on, but right now, they were on the warpath. I just prayed that I would be left out of it this time.

Rap music flowed through the speakers and I closed my eyes. If I lost myself in the lyrics, I could forget that their marriage was crumbling, that my father was fucking some white bitch from work. I could forget his tendency to put his hands on my mother and me. I could forget just how shitty my life was. The woofers of the stereo pulse a constant green and I slipped my headphones on. It drowned out the ridiculous fight from downstairs, and drowned out the sound of crashing plates and feeble screams. I dug in my pocket to find a small baggie. In this baggie was what I needed to get away from the hell that I lived in.

I pulled the cigarette out of the baggie and lit it. I inhaled deeply, wanting to forget everything. Sometimes I think about the fact that we were going broke. With this stuff I could lose myself. I could forget that I was KoJo. I could forget that in this town, no matter what I do, I couldn't get ahead of Zeke and Luther. I could be whatever I wanted to be, I could be a skater, a singer, a fish in the damn sea. I didn't have to stay here, let my mind be clouded with the ridiculous expectations that were placed on my all the time.

I was in heaven.

I pulled at my green shirt, the neck itching me. I heard a scream and I cranked the sound system louder. They weren't going to kill my buzz; they weren't going to bring me back into this hellish nightmare that I called my life. My mother was strong, she could fight him off. And if not, she could spread her legs, might distract him long enough.

I could feel buzz of contentment filling my bones, I was getting lighter and lighter. Soon I'd be able to float right out of here. I would float so so far away. Somewhere where I didn't have to be the token kid. Somewhere where I could just be left alone. I was tired of everything about Pacific Terrace and Gilroy. I threw opened my window and looked down at the lawn below me, the grass was a bright emerald. The world seemed to sing, reflected my elated mood, I could feel a certain heaviness begin to creep up on me and my buzz. With that heaviness, I would be stuck in reality, not in this beautiful place where everything could happen. I crawled onto the roof and stood on the edge, my arms opened. In this whole beautiful fucking world, people go through shit every second without anyone else in the world giving a damn.

What the hell was the world coming to?

I dug in my pocket to find several green dollar bills. Next time I'm going with something lighter and trippier. Maybe then, I could meddle out and keep my own peace.

Bliss is green.


End file.
